Confessions of a So-called Middle Child (8 page)

Worse Than the Spanish Inquisition

On Monday after school, I had Dr. Scales,
again
. I couldn't wait to tell him all about the road I'd taken on the path to self-realization with Mama T of Calcutta as my guide.

He kinda caught on when he saw my new outfit. I'd worked on it all Sunday. Mom took me to the farmers' market for fabric, ribbons, jewels, and bells, and you know what? I constructed a vision Karl Lagerfeld of Chanel would have stolen and copied: Picture Mama T, and if you can't, then Google her, you lazy people. I bejeweled a scarf like nobody's business. I can wear it over my head, around my waist, or even as a tube top. It's that great.

“Wow,” he said, “did you create this?”

“I did. And all from the farmers' market, I might add.”

“Ordinary people buy vegetables. You, Charlie, create a statement. You've outdone yourself.” He took off his glasses and looked me over. “Such an Indian flair to it as well. So exotic.”

“And don't forget, holy as crap.” I stuck a
bindi
on my forehead and on his—though on his it kinda got trapped in his giant folds of old skin. “I'm on a new path, Doc, one of peaceful kindness. I'm following in the footsteps of Gandhi, Mother Teresa, and my sister, Pen.”

“I'm so glad to hear it.” He sat back in his chair, pulled out my file, and opened it. “And were you able to locate and befriend
the one
everyone picks on?”

“Put it this way.” I took a deep breath, trying to remain positive. “A blind man could have picked her out, it's that bad.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And have you managed to stay away from cliques, from your pattern of entering them by turning the members against one another?”

“Pattern?” I winced. “Come on, Doc, I wasn't that bad.”

“Yes, you were.”

“All right, fine.” I removed my bedazzled scarf and laid it down on his desk. “The truth is that I have found that people actually like people who are nice.” I fell back onto his sofa. “It's the weirdest thing in the whole world. You don't have to be cool, or even look cool. You just have to be seen being nice to total losers. Everyone just watches you and thinks you're like the nicest person, and they want to be around you. That's why Pen's so popular, you see?” I don't know why I never figured it out before, but it works. “It works like a charm.”

He picked up his pipe, filled it with his tobacco that smelled both spicy and sweet, and put it in his mouth. “We all have our own roads, and we don't get there at the same time. You needed a fresh start and a pair of fresh eyes, Charlie.”

“You're not gonna light that, are you?”

“No, Charlie.” He puffed. “I quit, but I am still addicted to the process, the ritual. When we have bad habits, we often break them in stages, so don't be surprised if you find yourself repeating bad behavior subconsciously. It's part of the process.”

“You know, there's a girl, her name's Trixie, and even though she has this weird thing for gymnastics, I think she and I could be major best friends.”

“And does she already have a best friend?”

“Oh yeah, and it's downright sad.” I got up and looked out the window. “If she got dumped by Trixie, I'm pretty sure she'd totally lose it—”

“Like you did?”

I was so not digging the comparison. “Yeah, whatever; all I'm saying is that I'm not doing it. No way. I see the opening to cut between them and I'm leaving it alone. I'm being nice to Marta the Farta, that's what I'm doing. And it ain't easy.”

“I'm sure it's not.”

I tapped my fingers on his desk. “So how much longer?”

He scanned my huge file. “Well, you've made remarkable progress, Charlie. You haven't pranked your sister since your last big one on June—”

Oh! I closed my eyes, cherishing every detail like the most perfect dream. I'd been kicked out for well over three weeks before school officially ended, and I was bored and yeah, okay, maybe a little bitter. Anyway, I felt like making a splash. I needed the diversion!
So
on the last day of school I executed a perfect prank. And even though it landed me in my room for a full twenty-four hours, meals placed outside the door, sister not talking to me, Mom glaring at me, it was so worth it—and not just for me but for the community. The response I got from all the poor, suffering middle kids out there, the ones just trying to catch a break, who were sandwiched between two painfully obnoxious siblings, was overwhelming. It carried me through those dark, post-expulsion days. And because I care about all
you
Suffering Middle Children out there, here it is: the Perfect Prank on Your Super Annoying Overachieving Older Sister.

 

1. Hack into your sister's school website. If you don't happen to be a natural-born computer hacker like yours truly, then wake up, people, and take a computer programming class. It's the future, and you don't want to be left behind.

2. Replace the school home page with one of the ugliest, most horrifying pictures you can find of your sister. For example, for my sister, Penelope, I used the one my mom took on the first day she got her braces. Her mouth was all swollen, bleeding,
and
she had a row of fresh pimples along both sides of her nose. I'd been saving it like a diamond for just such an occasion.

3. Copy and paste headlines from your local humane society directly above the picture of your sibling. Good ones are:
No More Unwanted Babies Like This!
Or:
Neuter Her Now!
I put them right above Penelope's red, swollen brace face. And I tell you, it looked fantastic.

4. Count the seconds on your watch for the first bell to ring and the computers to be turned on. And bam, the entire school is looking at your little piece of art.

 

This was, as far as pranks go, well, let's just say I was proud. Think about it: Penelope's picture was on the screen of every computer monitor in the whole middle school. Every kid in that place, all fifteen hundred of them, flipped on their computers and got the shock of their lives: my sister, Penelope. Sadly, Penelope had just gotten her new cell phone. She called Mom almost instantly and, well, you know the rest of the story. Locked in my room forever. Mom and Dad took away all electronic equipment: computers, iPads, iPods, iPhones, even my brother's Nintendo DS, like I could hack into the school's mainframe with a Nintendo. Well, come to think of it, maybe I could.

“You look so happy right now, Charlie, almost angelic,” the doc said. “What are you thinking about?”

I opened one eye. “Oh, just how much I want to help Marta.”

He gave me this smirk thing like he wasn't totally buying it. “Well, if you can stay out of trouble and continue this new trend of taking the high road, then I'm hoping you'll be done with me before Christmas.”

My stomach fell. “But Doc!”

“Charlie, you were in great danger if you kept up things the way they were. You have done a huge amount of work to see life through new eyes, but you must get to a stage where you simply own it.”

“Oh, I do, I do own it,” I protested. I just wanted to move on.
Move On!

He glanced over at my beautiful scarf and beads. “Without the props.”

“But I like props.” Props make the world go around. Queens wear their crowns, armies their guns, what's wrong with my super sparkly scarf and beads from my mom's jewelry box?

“Yes, but they're props. You must own your new charitable self, like your sister owns hers. It's a part of her. When it's integrated in you, that's when you'll be ready to walk on your own two feet.” He got up, picked up my scarf, and placed it around my neck. “I can't wait to see what happens with you. You've been given this second chance, Charlie, and you've taken it by the horns; you've been reborn.” He shook his old fists like a boxer. “Take baby steps, not huge steps. You'll get there, I promise.”

He walked me to the door, and as it opened I saw Mom sitting in the same seat she'd been sitting in all summer long because of what I did. I stopped, looked up at his hairy nostrils, and remembered something I didn't want to remember. “The girl I like, Trixie, she knows people at Malibu Charter. You can't be reborn, Doc.”

He agreed, but it didn't matter, 'cause all I could think about was what if Trixie wasn't so nice? What if one day she threw it in my face like a big whipped-cream pie?

It was something I had to think about.

Salad? Seriously? Can I Just Off Myself Now?

Salad, after a day in the trenches of middle school and on the couch with an old shrink getting your head shrinked, really, Mom? Is there no greater form of cruelty than salad? I bet even Mandela got more than salad.

 

 

“Carrots for your eyes, beets for your brain, and lettuce for your intestines, Charlie.” Mom prepared the platter of death. “Live food, raw and all from my garden.”

Puke, puke, and more puke.

“That's right, roughage,” Dad chimed in like he was part of a tag team. “When your mom and I were young, we backpacked all over Thailand and even became vegan.”

We all rolled our eyes, of course. What kid likes the
Before You Were Born
stories? Grown-ups do this to prove that they were once cool. But they weren't, not even then. Case in point: Who backpacks anywhere when you can drive?

“Well, I love steak,” Felix said.

“Oh, Dad,” I said, jumping in. “Have you thought more about the Halloween party?”

Mom put down the huge plate of vegetables, which of course no one touched but her. “I think it's a great idea.” Mom's teeth were now studded with carrots. “Your dad and I have been working on it all week—”

Dad cut in with a creepy smile. “We're digging graves.” Then he added sound effects. “Ho, ha-ha-ha.”

Felix went white. “Graves?”

“And filling them with dead people.” Mom put down another plate of something green; and green, unless it's a gummy bear, is never good.

I poked it. “Mom, what is
that
?”

“Zucchini frittata,” she announced with pride, “made from the beautiful zucchini we bought together at the farmers' market. I added eggs and a little Parmesan cheese.”

The thought of it made me want to cry; all that cheese wasted. Plus it was time to check the latest updates on cyberbullying and teen blackmail. I was on the other side of it now, working to end it. Also, I wanted to give Jai an update. “May I be excused?” Pen's mouth was full of that nasty frittata; so were Mom's and Dad's. “I have stuff to do.”

I got the okay, dumped the dishes, and ran up the stairs. Within seconds I was stretched out on my bed, laptop on my lap, feet up, hand in a secret stash of candy, in absolute quiet. Now this was happiness. I did a quick check of the latest news in cyberbullying—nothing new there.

 

 

Jai's world, on the other hand, was fascinating. When I Skyped him, he was wet with perspiration like he'd just come off a coding session that worked him like the superstar he was.

“Busy day?”

“It's these bloody markers. Their system's been compromised; the government's freaking out.” He scooped up some lentils and rice with a piece of bread. “And we've had the monsoons here. It's been hot and wet; mosquitoes are carrying malaria all over the camps.”

I felt lucky and sad. “Is there anything I can do?”

 

 

He suddenly got closer to the screen. “Wait, is that a
bindi
on your forehead?”

“Don't laugh.” I got in full lotus position and broke it all down for my Indian brother. “Wearing the scarf of kindness, the beads of calm, and the good old third eye of wisdom has made me impenetrable. They don't even ask me why I'm nice to all the poor friendless saps out there. They just think I'm weirdly nice to them and don't question my motives. It's really beautiful.”

Jai paused and then said, “When I see someone who is kind to someone he does not need to be kind to, I don't question it either. I question myself for not being kind”—he nodded—“so I suppose your random act of kindness highlights their lack of it. It embarrasses them, so they say nothing. Very clever, Charlie, very, very clever.”

“You helped big-time, Jai.” I yawned, curled into my bed, and couldn't wait to sleep. “I really owe you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said. “Over and out, Ms. Cooper.”

I could barely keep my eyes open, so I just mumbled, “No one says that anymore.”

Jai winked and was gone.

Mr. L's Freakishly Hairy Nostrils

As soon as the bell rang, Mr. Lawson stood in front of us and let just one word fall from his mouth. “Competition.” And then he walked back to his desk and sat down. We all stared at him, looked at one another, all wondering if Mr. L had dementia
or
if all that nostril hair was actually clogging his brain somehow. Not that I'm a doctor or anything.

“Uh, Mr. L.” I raised my hand. “What do you want us to do?”

“I want you to think about the word. Quietly. Thoughtfully. What does it mean to you? What does it mean for us as a whole?”

Erica in the back groaned. “Can't we just take a multiple-choice test, a sample CST or something?”

He took a deep breath and held on to the desk. “This school follows the constructivist method, pioneered by the great John Dewey. We build thinkers, not memorizers. Charlie”—he pointed—“you first.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I hate competition,” I said. “I think it turns us into cannibals, which isn't so hot for the community as a whole, if you know what I mean.”

“Wow,” he said, clearly impressed. “Very strong.”

Marta turned and glared. “Competition is the very backbone of the human race. It's a race, people, and the best must win.”

I glanced over at Marta. Pretty heavy stuff.

Lillian played with a pencil. “Imagine if we all competed in looks, and only the best-looking survived. All ugly people would be gone, poof!” She smiled at Marta. “So much better, right?”

All the guys clapped. Then all the girls clapped, except for the ones who knew they were ugly. And me, I did not clap.

“Oh, stop!” Babs pretended to quiet everyone down. “Charlie's not laughing. Charlie and Marta are definitely
not
laughing.”

I wanted to punch her in the face.

“All right, all right, we're getting off track. The reason I'm asking you this is because we have gymnastics tryouts coming up.” The room exploded. “And as you all know, at Happy Canyon there is nothing more heated than the tryouts. But this year, Coach is looking for that diamond in the rough, the one who will go all the way.” He surveyed the room. “So this is about competition with others but also competition against yourselves.” Lillian raised her hand. “Yes, Lillian?”

“We”—she stood, her eyes roving, her voice rising in excitement—“finally have a chance to make it all the way to the Nationals.” The room exploded into foot stomping and screaming. “With our new coach, there's no way we can fail.”

“Don't forget”—Trixie shook her finger—“you still need someone who can pull off the uneven bars.”

Lillian looked right at Trixie. “You know what competition is, Mr. Lawson? You do it with all you've got; you try every last thing to get what you want, because you want it more than you want anything else in the world.”

Marta nodded, like some kind of Jedi knight or freaky serial killer. I saw something there and then, a powerful secret brewing like trouble in those sleep-encrusted eyes of hers. I wanted in.